Chapter 19 Kya
KYA
Lee pushes off from my doorframe as I approach, uncrossing his arms with that lazy confidence that makes heat pool low in my belly. The porch light casts shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the fullness of his lips.
“Have fun?” he asks, voice low and rough.
“The best.” I sway slightly on my heels, the tequila making me brave and reckless. “Steel was our designated driver. We made him stop for nuggets.”
“Nuggets?” He’s fighting a smile, and I want to kiss it off his face.
“Sixty of them.” I step closer, close enough to smell his cologne mixed with leather and the night air. “But I’m done talking about nuggets.”
His eyes darken as I reach out, running one finger down the center of his chest, feeling his muscles tense under my touch.
“Kya—”
“All night,” I interrupt, circling him slowly, my fingers trailing across his shoulders. “All night I danced with my girls. Had men offering to buy me drinks, trying to get my number.” I stop behind him, going up on my tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “And all I could think about was you.”
He turns to face me, but I dance back, keeping just out of reach.
“Thought about your hands,” I continue, backing toward my front door, holding his gaze. “Your mouth. The way you look at me like you want to devour me.”
“Kya.” My name comes out strained.
“Are you going to devour me, Lee?” I reach behind me for the door handle, missing it twice before finding it. “Or are you going to stand there all night?”
The door swings open and I stumble backward, laughing when he catches me around the waist. His hands are large and warm through the thin fabric of my dress, fingers spanning nearly my entire waist.
“Careful,” he murmurs, but I’m already pulling him inside, kicking the door shut with my heel.
“I don’t want to be careful.” I press against him, feeling every hard line of his body. “I want to be wild. Reckless.” I nip at his jaw, tasting the salt of his skin. “I want to make you lose control.”
His hands tighten on my waist. “You’re drunk.”
“Tipsy,” I correct, sliding my hands under his shirt, feeling his abs contract under my touch. “And I know exactly what I want.”
“What do you want?”
Instead of answering, I drop to my knees.
“Fuck, Kya—”
I look up at him through my lashes as my hands work at his belt, taking my time with the buckle. “I thought about this during girls’ night. When Mercy was talking about supply closet Derek and what she wanted to do to him.”
His hands fist at his sides. “Who the fuck is Derek?”
“Nobody.” I get his belt undone, moving to the button of his jeans. “Just some random guy who doesn’t matter. Not like you.”
I lower his zipper tooth by tooth, watching his chest rise and fall with increasingly ragged breaths. When I hook my fingers in his waistband, he stops me.
“Bedroom,” he growls, hauling me to my feet.
“Here is good—”
He silences me with a kiss that steals my breath, his tongue claiming mine with a thoroughness that makes my knees weak. When we break apart, I’m panting.
“Bedroom,” he repeats, and this time I don’t argue.
He walks me backward down the hall, his hands roaming my body, finding the zipper of my dress and drawing it down slowly. The dress pools at my feet just as we reach the bedroom, leaving me in a black lace set.
“Christ,” he breathes, taking me in. The bra is all delicate lace and strategic cutouts, the panties barely there. “You wore this to the club?”
“Under my dress.” I do a slow turn, letting him see how the panties are essentially just string in the back. “It made me feel powerful.”
“Did it just.”
“Yes.” I face him again, stepping closer. “But you know what makes me feel more powerful?”
“What?”
“The way you’re looking at me right now. Like you can’t decide whether to worship me or ruin me.”
“Both,” he says roughly. “Definitely both.”
I reach for his shirt, unbuttoning it with fingers that tremble slightly from want rather than alcohol. Each button reveals more skin—his chest with its light dusting of hair, the V of his hips, the trail that disappears beneath his jeans.
“My turn to look,” I murmur, pushing the shirt off his shoulders.
The moonlight from the window highlights every muscle, every scar, every inch of him that I’ve memorized but never get tired of exploring. I run my hands over his chest, feeling his heart race under my palm.
“You’re so beautiful,” I whisper, then laugh at myself. “Is it weird to call a man beautiful?”
“From you? No.” He cups my face gently. “Nothing from you is weird.”
The tenderness in his voice makes my chest tight. I kiss him again, slower this time, savoring the slide of his tongue against mine, the way he groans when I suck on his bottom lip.
“I need you,” I whisper against his mouth.
“You have me.”
“No, I mean—” I push his jeans down, frustrated with the barriers between us. “I need you now.”
He kicks off his jeans and boxers, then lifts me easily, carrying me to the bed. But instead of following me down, he stands at the edge, just looking.
“What?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious.
“Just memorizing this.” His hands slide up my legs, from my ankles to my thighs, slowly, reverently. “You in that lingerie. Your hair all wild. That flush on your skin.”
“Less memorizing, more touching.”
He chuckles, but complies, his hands continuing their journey up my body. When he reaches the edge of my panties, he hooks his fingers in them, dragging them down torturously slowly.
“Lee,” I whine, lifting my hips.
“Patience.”
“I left my patience at the club.”
He tosses my panties aside, then spreads my legs wider, settling between them. But instead of touching me where I need him, he kisses the inside of my knee.
“I’m going to take my time with you,” he says against my skin, moving higher with each kiss. “Going to taste every inch of you.”
“Please—”
“Gonna to make you beg,” he continues, his breath hot against my inner thigh. “Make you shake. Make you scream.”
“Big talk,” I manage, though my voice comes out breathless.
He looks up at me, eyes dark with promise. “Want me to prove it?”
“God, yes.”
His mouth is on me then, and I cry out, my back arching off the bed. He wasn’t lying about taking his time—he explores me like he’s got all night, alternating between soft kisses and firm strokes of his tongue, building me up only to back off just before I break.
“Lee, please,” I beg, my hands fisted in his hair.
“Please what?”
“I need—I need—”
“Tell me.”
“I need to come. Please, I need—”
He sucks on my clit while sliding two fingers inside me, curling them just right, and I shatter. The orgasm rolls through me in waves, each one more intense than the last, until I’m trembling and gasping his name.
He kisses his way up my body, giving me time to recover. When he reaches my bra, he makes quick work of the clasp, tossing it aside.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, taking one nipple into his mouth.
I arch into him, still sensitive from my orgasm, every touch feeling like electricity. When I can form coherent thoughts again, I push at his shoulders, rolling us so I’m on top.
“My turn,” I say, straddling his hips.
His hands go to my waist, but I pin them to the bed. “No touching. Not yet.”
“Kya—”
“I told you I wanted to be wild tonight.” I roll my hips, feeling him hard against me but not taking him inside yet. “This is me being wild.”
I torture us both, sliding against him, getting him wet with my arousal but never quite taking him in. His hands clench in the sheets, his jaw tight with the effort of control.
“Kya, baby, please—”
“Now who’s begging?”
“Me,” he says without hesitation. “I’m begging. Now fuck me or I’ll take over.”
I reach for the nightstand, grabbing protection and rolling it on him slowly, maintaining eye contact the whole time. Then, finally, I sink down onto him.
We both groan at the sensation. I’m still sensitive and swollen, and he feels bigger than usual, stretching me perfectly.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “You feel incredible.”
I start to move, finding a rhythm that has us both gasping. His hands are on my hips now, helping me ride him, and I don’t stop him this time. I need his touch, need his strength, need him.
“Look at you,” he says, voice rough with awe. “So fucking beautiful like this. Taking what you want.”
“You,” I gasp. “I want you.”
“You have me. All of me.”
The way he says it, the raw honesty in his voice, breaks me open. I slow my movements, leaning down to kiss him deeply.
“I love you,” I whisper against his lips.
He rolls us, never breaking our connection, until he’s above me. “I love you too, Kya.”
The wildness from before shifts into something deeper, more intense. We move together slowly now, savoring each touch, each kiss, each whispered word of love. When he slides his hand between us to touch me, I’m already so close.
“Together,” I plead. “I want to come together.”
“Yeah, baby. Together.”
We find our release at the same time, holding each other through the waves of pleasure.
After, he pulls me against his chest, and I can feel his heart racing under my palm, matching the rhythm of mine.
“Wild enough for you?” I ask, my voice rough.
He laughs, pressing a kiss to my hair. “Perfect. You’re perfect.”
“Even when I’m tipsy and demanding?”
“Especially then.” His arms tighten around me. “Though I have to ask—who the fuck is supply closet Derek?”
I giggle, the sound slightly hysterical from exhaustion and satisfaction. “Some guy Mercy tried to hook up with at the club.”
“And that made you think of me?”
“No.” I tilt my head to look at him. “It made me think how glad I am that I get to come home to this. To you. To us.”
His expression softens. “Yeah?”
“I’m the luckiest woman alive,” I tell him, meaning every word despite the alcohol still in my system. “I get to love you. I get to be loved by you.”
“Kya—”
“I mean it.” I cup his face, making sure he can see my sincerity. “Tonight was fun. The girls are amazing. But nothing compares to coming home to you.”
He kisses me softly, tenderly, like I’m something precious.
The simple gesture makes my eyes sting with unexpected tears. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Other way around, baby.” He pulls the covers over us, tucking me against his side. “Sleep now. You’re going to have a hell of a hangover tomorrow.”
“I don’t get hangovers,” I mumble, already drifting. “I’m lucky like that.”
“Yeah?”
“Mmm. Got to be wild. Got to come home to you. No hang over. Perfect night.”
His chest rumbles with quiet laughter. “Love you, my wild girl.”
“Love you too,” I whisper, and fall asleep feeling cherished, satisfied, and completely, utterly home.